


Snow, Falling

by Shampain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Style, Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Sweet Dreams, Winter, sif is in fact a charming gentleman rogue with ladybits, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: Sif escorts Loki back to the palace on a quiet, snowy night.My friend couldn't sleep, so I wrote her a bedtime story.





	Snow, Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [forletterorverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forletterorverse/gifts).



Sif was leaving the pub on a cold winter's night. Well, it wasn't so much cold as it was chilly; but there was snow coming down. There was a sound to falling snow that Sif enjoyed, an endless hush that seemed to exist just below the surface, like a sigh. The further she travelled from the amber-lit windows of the pub, full of raucous laughter, the louder the snow became.

There was another noise, too; the soft step of a boot, somewhere ahead. The roads of Asgard were dim and only every second lamppost had flame guttering in its sconces, but she had a feeling of who might be ahead. Only two individuals – besides herself – would be heading back to the palace so late, and only one of them would walk so light of step.

“Hail, prince of Asgard?” she called, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her neck and quickening her pace.

The footsteps stopped and, as she turned the corner ahead, there he was. His cloak was a rich and vivid green, trimmed in silver fur, and engulfed him, but his hood was down. Snowflakes settled in his hair but melted on his cheeks, and it reminded her that however cold he looked he was warm.

“Lady Sif,” he said, with a slight bow. His cheeks were flushed from more than the cold; indeed she could smell the sweet port on his breath once she stepped up beside him.

“Might I escort you home?” she asked, with a smirk. “It's dangerous for someone so delicate; especially a prince. Someone out there might have the wrong idea.”

“I fear I would not fetch much of a ransom,” he said dryly.

“I know. That's why I'm not bothering to kidnap you myself.”

He laughed and they fell into step together. She wondered where he had been. Tucked away in a library, perhaps, with his wine and his books. Sif herself did not abide books, because she now discovered their scent reminded her of Loki, and it made her sad.

“Have you been minding the Warriors Three, tonight?” he asked.

“If by 'mind' you mean do they bother me; if so, yes.”

“I meant perhaps you were watching over them.”

“Oh yes, that too.”

He laughed again. She liked the way it sounded. _So serious_ his brother would tease him, sometimes, but Loki only became serious when he was mocked, which was often. He was different. Sif wanted to dislike him for it, as she ought to. Though he was skilled in battle, he could not best her, and thus how could she respect him? (But she did)

“Are you to sneak in past the guards?” she asked, as they approached the gates.

He smiled. “The guards don't bother with me,” he said. “It is Thor they watch for; he always causes quite the fuss. So long as I am here first, the guards rest easy.”

Sif grinned. “Good then that I walked you safely home,” she said. “As I can report your brother has not yet made the trek.”

“Then I'm safe in more ways than one.”

Many winding paths ended in a door, a door that led to the palace. They took the longest one, one that meandered through the silent wintry gardens, with the ponds shining silver, fish darting like slivers of light beneath the ice.

In the shadow of a small doorway, topped by an arch of blue and white stones, they stopped and faced one another.

“Might I ask one more favour from you, my lady?” he asked.

“You may ask for one, but we shall see.”

“Yes,” he said. “I understand.”

“What favour do you ask of me?”

He leaned in closer, and she tipped her head up to look at him. His eyes were the palest of blues. “A kiss,” he said. “To warm my heart on this cold evening. Might I have one?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She had spent so long not looking at him, perhaps she had not noticed him looking at her.

“No,” she said. “You may not have a kiss from me, dear prince.”

He smiled. It was slow and sad, like the falling of the snow; beautiful, not meant to last. “Very well,” he said.

“However.”

“However?”

“I shall take a kiss from you,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek. His skin was warm even through her kidskin glove. “As payment for your safe return.”

He tasted of dark red wine, full and lush and sweet. Snowflakes tumbled onto her cheek. She slept peacefully that night, and dreamed of him, of being with him, in that quiet sighing hush of falling snow.


End file.
